


i miss you, i miss you, i miss you more

by determination



Category: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: M/M, au where christopher and millie didn't get married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/determination/pseuds/determination
Summary: Conrad is forced to take a break. This, along with his embarrassingly large collection of photographs from over the years, help catalyze a revelation of sorts.
Relationships: Christopher Chant/Conrad Tesdinic
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	i miss you, i miss you, i miss you more

**Author's Note:**

> so as it turns out, christopher/conrad is like. everything i like in a ship lol   
> the premise of this one is similar to my chris/millie/conrad fic that i posted a couple days ago (i'm uncreative lmao) but obviously the plot is different so i can't bring myself to care about the one similarity :')  
> (this was inspired by bastille lyrics)  
> (also i can't be assed to really figure out anything about what conrad's job is like so. just. bear with me please lol)  
> please no criticism or critiques. i hope you enjoy!

Conrad could tell he was off his game for a few reasons. For one, he’d almost managed to fudge his mission with Prendergast. He thought it was luck that brought the older man with him - Conrad had been assigned alone, but Prendergast had insisted on going along, being more experienced and more familiar with the area than Conrad was. He had business there, he insisted, and Conrad wasn’t about to protest the company, though he thought perhaps Prendergast had an ulterior motive for being so determined to join him. 

It worked in his favor - and that was where the second reason came in. “That was an amateur mistake,” Prendergast chided gently. Conrad winced. He knew Prendergast was right, and he had no defense to offer, other than being careless. Prendergast went on, “You should take the rest of the day off. Maybe even tomorrow, too.” 

Conrad stared at him, confusion building. “What do you mean?” he asked nervously. Was his performance really that bad?

Prendergast smiled. It was a sad, sympathetic smile that made Conrad’s gut twist with discomfort. “There’s something off about you, lad. I think you’ve overworked yourself. Better to take a break than risk making it worse.” With a wink, he added, “Trust me, I know from experience.”

It was difficult for Conrad to accept this. He didn’t know what he would do if he took a break. If he wasn’t working… He sighed. Maybe that was why. His days were beginning to revolve around his job. He knew it was his own fault - after all, it was all he could do to keep his mind busy.

“I suppose you’re right,” Conrad conceded. His camera felt like a deadweight hung around his neck. If it hadn’t become such a vital piece of him, he would have abandoned it. If only it were just a part of his job, and not his bloody hobby. He resisted the urge to sigh.

“Just take it easy,” Prendergast said, and he patted Conrad on the back. “I reckon you’ll feel good as new after you give yourself time to rest.”

We’ll see about that, Conrad thought. He rather wished he had something witty to say in response, but he gave up thinking about it because it only reminded him of Christopher. And that was the third, and possibly most significant, reason for Conrad’s mood. 

He missed Christopher. Terribly, utterly, and irreconcilably. He’d made the mistake the other day of deciding he’d sort through his old photographs; he was something of a hoarder and struggled to throw any away, even the duds. But as he looked through them, he’d found the collection of pictures from his time at Chrestomanci castle. The collection was larger than any of the others. This was because without a doubt that was the happiest time of Conrad’s life, and this also meant that the collection was full of pictures upon pictures of Christopher. 

Pictures of Christopher and Millie casting spells. Pictures of Christopher in assortments of ridiculously fancy suits, looking stately and important. Pictures of Christopher petting a cat. Pictures of Christopher at the holidays, having drunk too much eggnog and looking veritably red-faced and silly. There were so many that Conrad hardly knew what to do with them. Each one made him miss Christopher even more. 

It was a stupid, pointless sort of missing. Christopher was Chrestomanci, which meant he was enormously busy. They communicated from time to time, but their last face to face meeting had been so long ago that Conrad had genuinely forgotten when it occurred. And that simply made him miss Christopher more. Which made him frustrated and sad, and affected his work performance.

So yes, he’d rather done it to himself.

Negotiating a break proved easy. He’d been taking missions and working nonstop for what was probably an ungodly amount of time. The officials were only too eager to ensure he finally used the almost frightening number of vacation days he’d been stockpiling. Conrad supposed they would have been in trouble if he had continued on this way and collapsed or had an accident, so in some ways he was doing them a favor by taking a break. He told himself that was so as he trudged out of the branch office, trying and failing to not feel guilty for leaving. 

It would only be a few days. All he had to do was pretend to rest and then soon enough he could come back to work like usual. He hoped that would be enough for Prendergast.

When Conrad arrived back at his apartment (the one the rest of his coworkers still couldn’t believe he had when their salary was so good - Conrad just preferred a smaller living space), he found the place in the same disarray he’d left it. Piles of photographs were scattered here and there across the floor in haphazard stacks, sorted by dates and times and places. Nearest to the door were the oldest pictures, from his childhood before he went to Stallery. Around that were various time brackets of his life after he left Chrestomanci castle. The pictures from Chrestomanci castle were closest to the bed, for easiest access. Conrad stared at the mess and rather wondered how he’d managed to get out of the place that morning without disturbing anything. He had to stumble on tiptoes not to rustle any of the piles, and he had difficulty imagining himself doing this in his usual tired, distracted state in the morning. He never had gotten used to waking early, no matter how often he had to do it.

With some struggling, he managed to maneuver to the kitchen. He wasn’t in the mood to cook, and was pleased to find he still had leftovers buried in the back of the fridge, takeout containers with food from a few nights ago. It likely wouldn’t have gone bad yet (he hoped not, at any rate) and he grabbed a fork and towed the containers carefully to his bed where he sat and ate, peering down at the photographs with knitted brows.

He knew the most logical thing, to stem the tide of feelings that had begun to wash over him and to tidy the messy floor, was to simply put the photographs back in his closet and not think about them again. But now that they were out in the open, nothing could contain the desire to relive his fondest memories by looking through each and every picture. It was foolish. Doubtless he would just feel nostalgic and depressed by the end of the impromptu jaunt.

Against his better judgment, when he had finished eating a miserably mediocre dinner, Conrad bent down over the edge of the bed and picked up the closest stack of photos. They were from a festival he and the other pupils at Chrestomanci castle had attended. Conrad wouldn’t have remembered the subject of it had the top picture not been of Christopher posing dazzlingly in front of the banner: magic and technology. Conrad recalled that it had been a strictly governmental affair, particularly because the event featured information from various worlds, yet Gabriel had gotten express permission for all of them to go. As Chrestomanci, his word had been enough for the highest level passes, which seemed to delight Christopher. 

As Conrad flipped through the photos, a smile tugged at his lips. He remembered how excited Christopher had been, flitting between displays and telling Conrad and Millie all he knew about the contraptions and instruments they saw. Conrad had snapped no few pictures of him mid-explanation, his mouth open, his dark eyes alight with boyish confidence. He was so handsome and mesmerizing that Conrad lingered on the pictures, heart aching keenly. How fond he’d been of Christopher, he thought bitterly, even back then. It was evident, with just how many pictures of Christopher he’d taken. He knew without question that the rest of the piles would contain a similar multitude of similar shots. 

Conrad sighed and laid back on his bed. It was useless. There was no denying the nature of his feelings, not when he’d had them for this long. That didn’t make it any easier to accept them, though. They lived in different worlds. Quite literally. But they’d always been different in the general sense, too. Christopher was confident, thought quickly on his feet, and seemed to understand how people worked (how else could he know precisely how to annoy you). He’d always been handsome, to the extent that Conrad often wondered if he’d been an angel in his past life for karma to gift him such decidedly excellent genes. Certainly he could be hard to handle at times - egotistical, lazy, and bad at recognizing when he’d done something wrong or apologizing for it - but he always had a way of making up for his faults. The way his laughter would brighten a room; how he would remember even the most minor details if you were someone important to him; his innate desire to help, especially to his detriment. 

He was, in Conrad’s opinion, perfect. Conrad had thought so since he first met Christopher as they walked along the tedious path to Stallery. Even at Christopher’s worst, Conrad could never hate him. No matter how often he and Millie had commiserated. 

Conrad sighed again and glared at the ceiling. He didn’t want to be bitter. He knew there was no helping the circumstances. Christopher was in another league entirely, and Conrad, well… Where Christopher was all elegance and smart remarks, Conrad was awkwardness and sentimentality. He’d stopped growing prematurely and his hair had steadily become more unruly as he got older. His clothes were plain, and he generally preferred to blend in than stand out. Which, to be fair, suited his job. It was easier to infiltrate and sneak about as a wallflower, despite what Prendergast would have him believe. Christopher had easily settled into his job as Chrestomanci. But Conrad… Here he was, lying on his bed in his untidy apartment cursing the situation of his birth and feeling stupidly guilty for needing to take a break. 

If only he’d been born in Series Twelve. If only he could work at Chrestomanci castle, where he could see Christopher nearly everyday, and directly help him tackle whatever problems demanded Chrestomanci’s attention.

Bother. Conrad shut his eyes to stop himself from rolling them. He needed to relax. Throwing the pile of photos back onto the floor, he clumsily waltzed across the apartment back toward the door where he pulled his boots on. He needed a drink.

\--

Fay was always a good drinking partner. She said the same about Conrad because his presence seemed to deter too many people from bothering her. “It’s not that you’re intimidating, darling,” she’d laughed, “but you have this… no nonsense look about you. All business. I think it sometimes makes people think twice before approaching.” Conrad wasn’t sure if this was a compliment. At that moment, he hadn’t cared. He just wanted to take his mind off the trouble that was Christopher Chant.

When they parted ways sometime after midnight, Fay had reached up and gently patted his back, similar to how Prendergast had earlier in the day. “You don’t seem yourself tonight, darling,” she said sympathetically. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

He really was obvious, wasn’t he.

\--

When he awoke the following morning, he nearly forgot he was on vacation. He sat up with a start and thought, “I’m going to be late!” but the piles of photographs had stopped him clamoring out of bed, and that was reminder enough. He sat there on the edge of the bed, staring down at the pictures, head throbbing. It was a wonder he hadn’t scattered them all when he’d stumbled in the previous night. 

Maybe he should just put them all away. At least then he wouldn’t have to become a contortionist just to get breakfast from the kitchen. 

He did it anyway, twisting this way and that to ensure he didn’t step wrong and send photographs spilling across the floor. He ate while leaning against the counter, eyes still gliding over the messy floor. He haphazardly stuck the dirty dish in the sink and then danced back to his bed.

With shaking hands, Conrad reached down and picked up a fresh pile. It was from a normal day at the castle. Conrad remembered snapping pictures during their lessons, just him and Christopher. This was from the period of time when Millie had been absent, away at her new school. Conrad’s chest tightened. He’d thought Christopher had seemed more clingy at that time, probably due to loneliness and missing Millie. It showed in the pictures. Christopher didn’t look his best; his dark eyes lacked brilliance, and his smile looked strained. Conrad held one of the photographs between his fingers and thought ruefully of how he’d tried to cheer Christopher up, joking and in general being as positive as he could muster. He wondered if it had ever worked.

But, as he got to the end of the pile, the last picture caught his eye. It was a simple shot of Christopher laughing, and Conrad was struck by the genuine look of it. He’d gotten through to Christopher, and had gotten him to laugh. 

His heart raced as he traced the expression. He didn’t understand. He didn’t remember thinking he’d made that much of an impact, and yet here was solid proof. Christopher’s face was even flushed to show the magnitude of his laughter. 

Conrad spent a long, long moment staring before separating the picture from the pile. He carefully set the photographs down and picked up the next stack. It showcased one particularly snowy day where all of them had gone out to have a serious snowball fight. Conrad remembered how much fun Christopher'd had, pelting snowballs at the other team and using his magic to keep their base as protected as possible. 

Another picture stood out to him. It was Christopher, rosy-cheeked with a snowball in his gloved hand. He was looking into the camera with such a warm expression that, for a second, Conrad felt winded. No, it wasn’t the camera he was looking at. That fond look was directed at Conrad, and it made Conrad’s heart leap into his throat. How had he missed this before? 

There was no mistaking the type of look it was. Conrad knew it very well because it was the sort of look he used to give Christopher when Conrad lived at Chrestomanci castle. The one that secretly said, “I have feelings for you.” The one that was resigned to being unrequited.

Conrad couldn’t take his eyes off the photograph. He stared at it for what felt like hours, tracing the expression until he could see it even with his eyes closed. Was it a trick of the light? Was it just Conrad’s wishful thinking? Were there others like this one?

He had to know. He simply had to.

The rest of the day was a sort of frenzy. Conrad went through each pile of pictures with great zeal, hunting and scrutinizing. He was amazed by the sheer number of pictures that replicated the expression. He took each one and began pinning them on the wall beside his bed, covering the surface in an assortment of photographs of Christopher. His heart hammered in his chest as he paused to admire the new collection, eyes running along every picture. He felt exhilarated. He had never even considered that Christopher might reciprocate the feelings he had. The idea always felt so silly and preposterous that Conrad had long given up on it. But the more he examined the photographs, the more he allowed himself to hope. 

This, of course, made him miss Christopher more than ever. He thought, as he inspected young Christopher’s face, that Christopher had simply gotten more handsome as he aged. He’d been so boyishly handsome, but as he reached adulthood, he’d grown more suave, more sophisticated. How Christopher did it, Conrad had no idea. But he found himself wishing he had more photographs of the older face. That, and it was difficult to keep his hopes up without more recent proof.

Letting out a slow exhale, Conrad laid back on his bed and gazed up at the ceiling. Maybe he could summon Christopher. He wanted to dismiss the idea as quickly as it had come to him, but it was rather enticing. Blatantly selfish and unfair, but enticing all the same. Would Christopher begrudge Conrad for wishing to see him? Would Conrad be pulling Christopher out of some important business or other? Would the summoning even work? 

He supposed he could try. There was no harm if it didn’t work, but if it did… He then needed an excuse. He couldn’t think of anything. He was technically on vacation, and there were currently no overarching problems occurring in Series Seven. No need for Chrestomanci, then.

Conrad groaned and put his hands over his face. He was sick of thinking. He wanted to see Christopher so badly he thought he wouldn’t mind if Christopher got mad at him. Not in the apartment, though. Not with the pictures everywhere and the new collection currently taking up a sizable chunk of the wall.

At that moment, Conrad’s stomach decided to growl perilously. The sound startled Conrad, and what startled him more was the fact that, when he checked his watch, it was already approaching dinnertime. Had he really spent that long going through his photographs? He wasn’t sure whether to be proud or ashamed. Perhaps both.

Mind made up, Conrad quickly put together an agreeable outfit (the nicest clothes he owned) and carefully stepped his way to the door. When he’d descended to the ground floor and left the building, he took a deep breath. He opened his mouth and tried.

“Chrestomanci,” he said with some feeling. Nothing happened. Belatedly, he recalled that you had to say it more than once for the summoning to work, at least in another world. “Chrestomanci,” he said again, a little more shyly this time. Still nothing. Brows furrowed, he tried one last time. “Chrestomanci-”

Before the title was out of his mouth, there was a distinct whoosh of air that swept past Conrad. His heart leapt into his throat. Before him stood the familiar tall figure of a bewildered Christopher Chant, who was dressed luxuriously in a dark velvet suit. His eyes were wide with alarm, and he appeared to be in the middle of putting his gloves on, or perhaps just fiddling with them, Conrad wasn’t too sure. It took Christopher a few seconds to get his bearings before his eyes landed on Conrad and he looked even more bewildered.

“... Grant?” he said, voice dripping with disbelief. He stared at Conrad as if he wasn’t sure Conrad was really there. By now, Conrad’s heart had settled back into his ribcage and was making quite a fuss, pounding and palpitating as if he’d run a marathon and hadn’t caught his breath yet.

Christopher was here. Christopher Chant was here, and Conrad could barely contain the sheer joy that welled up within him. 

Christopher grunted to inform Conrad that Conrad had indeed lunged forward and tackled him in a tight hug.

“Good Lord, Grant, is everything alright?” Christopher asked. He sounded concerned, but there was also a smile in his voice as he returned the hug. Conrad wanted to groan with the warmth of Christopher’s arms around him. 

“Everything’s fine,” Conrad said, muffled against Christopher’s shoulder. “I mean, I’m on break because everyone said I work too hard-”

“On break?” Conrad could practically hear one of Christopher’s brows quirk upward. “Are you saying you called me here because you were forced into a vacation?”

“No!” Conrad’s head shot up. Christopher was grinning, and that brought a faint dusting of blush to Conrad’s cheeks. “Well, yes, sort of,” he amended. How he’d missed that smile. “I just… It’s been ages. I-”  _ Missed you _ , “-Thought maybe we could… catch up?” He finished uncertainly, giving Christopher a hopeful look.

Christopher returned that with a vague look of his own. “You appear healthy enough. And I don’t sense anything amiss in the world.” He paused thoughtfully. Conrad was surprised Christopher hadn’t yet extricated himself from Conrad’s grasp. “I must conclude,” Christopher went on, smiling dreamily, “that you simply desired my company. And that, dear Grant, is a simple fix.” 

Now he did move, adjusting so that he and Conrad had linked arms. Conrad felt fit to burst with delight. “I didn’t interrupt something, did I?” Conrad asked, just to be sure.

Christopher was already towing Conrad down the street. “My dear, dear Grant,” he shook his head, chuckling, “That  _ something _ was interrupting you.” Conrad couldn’t help beaming. It really had been too long. “Dinner sounds agreeable, yes?”

“Absolutely,” Conrad said without hesitation. 

\--

Conrad hadn’t spent long enough at Stallery for it to really impact his behaviors. Still, when he found himself in a pinch, he would usually fall back into the habit of standing stock still and pretending he was a piece of furniture. It may not have done anything, but at least it made him feel better, most of the time.

Not this time, though.

Dinner had been marvelous. They’d chatted the whole time, filling in all the blanks since they last met. And then, when they’d finished, they’d set on back to Conrad’s apartment.

Conrad had forgotten the state he’d left it in. He’d been so caught up in how wonderful it was to see Christopher again. When he opened the door to let Christopher inside, Christopher said, amused, “How like you, Grant, to live in a hurricane of photographs,” and Conrad flushed and hurried inside to clean up. Christopher had stepped carefully over the piles of photographs, peering down at them with interest. “You have quite the collection here.” 

It was the word that made Conrad remember. Collection. 

Oh. Oh no. 

“Wait-!” he’d started to say, but it was already too late. Christopher was standing in perfect view of the wall beside Conrad’s bed where Christopher’s face was plastered in at least 35-40 photographs.

Conrad’s heart stopped. He wanted the floor to swallow him up. He rather wished he was a piece of furniture. How bad it must have looked. And so he stood as still as he could and willed himself to turn into a chair.

“Grant,” Christopher said in a strangled voice, “What is this?” He was quite pale and his dark eyes shone with nervousness as they swept over the pictures. 

How could Conrad explain? Anything he could say would sound like an excuse. He had been caught with a myriad of photographs of his friend stuck to the wall like some kind of shrine. His face was quite red as he continued to stare at Christopher, unable to find his voice.

“Conrad,” Christopher said. And that had Conrad even more nervous because Christopher almost never called him by his name. Christopher was looking exceedingly vague now, though he was still ghostly pale. “... Perhaps I should be going.”

That was the last thing Conrad wanted. They’d barely spent any time together besides, and he hated to think of leaving things off like this. He at least needed to explain the photographs, even if it incriminated him.

There was something of a struggle. Christopher had started to turn to leave, and Conrad immediately shot forward to halt him. The result was that Conrad had forgotten the photographs still strewn across the floor, and the heel of his shoe caught and slipped right out from under him. “Conrad!” Christopher had exclaimed, vagueness instantly replaced by concern. And then they’d both toppled backwards onto Conrad’s bed, on account of Christopher grabbing the lapels of Conrad’s jacket to stop him from falling backwards. 

If possible, Conrad’s face had gone redder than before. This was infinitely worse. He was now haphazardly on top of a slightly disheveled Christopher, pinning him to the bed. His hands were pressed against Christopher’s chest. Christopher gazed up at him incredulously.

“You really ought to be more careful,” Christopher muttered. That was when Conrad noticed that Christopher was also blushing, albeit faintly.

“I…” Conrad couldn’t help staring. What if he hadn’t been wrong? What if the looks from the photographs were genuine, and Christopher had panicked (in his own fashion) to see the display which showcased the feelings he thought he’d kept hidden? Would it be alright to let himself hope? Did he dare to ask?

“Grant, please, this is-” Christopher began, shifting, but Conrad had found his courage, and he propped his hands on either side of Christopher, which startled Christopher into stopping. “Grant?” he said, bewildered.

“Why do you think you should leave?” Conrad asked.

Christopher snapped back to utter vagueness and avoided Conrad’s gaze. “... I’m afraid I don’t follow,” he answered, completely unhelpful.

Conrad wasn’t going to let him vague his way out of this. “You said you should leave. These pictures mean something to you, don’t they?”

At that, Christopher’s eyes widened minutely. He cleared his throat. He glanced in the direction of the wall where the photographs were arranged, seemed to consider moving again, then decided against it and sunk into Conrad’s bed looking vaguer than ever. “Isn’t that something I should ask you? Is it a normal affair to hang up so many pictures of a friend? What might be the reason for that, hm?”

Conrad wouldn’t let himself be deterred. “I missed you,” he said openly, and watched as Christopher’s eyes widened again. “I was reminiscing by looking through my old photographs. That collection…” Conrad allowed his eyes to flit upward, traveling along the aforementioned pictures. “... Those stood out to me. It’s something about your expression.”

“... Whatever could you mean?” Christopher murmured. Underneath the vagueness, Conrad thought he could sense that Christopher was flustered, which made his heart race with anticipation. A little more. With another little push, maybe he could find the answer he was looking for.

“I have a theory,” Conrad said. He was still hovering over Christopher, and found himself thankful that they’d ended up in that position. It made it easier to plan- that was, he supposed he also could have grabbed Christopher by the neck and pulled him down had they been standing, but he rather thought this was bound to be more comfortable. 

Christopher finally met Conrad’s eyes. He was still doing his best to keep all emotions off of his face, but a lovely shade of pink had broken through his defenses. “And what would that be, pray tell?”

“Should I demonstrate it?” Conrad challenged. He wasn’t sure where this bout of confidence had come from, but he was more than ready to utilize it. “I think that might be easier than explaining.”

Christopher’s gaze dropped to Conrad’s mouth. Perhaps he’d caught on. “... It’s certainly possible,” Christopher said.

Only, now that the opportunity was upon him, Conrad found he’d nearly lost his nerve. His knees felt weak. His chest ached with longing, and part of him wondered if he’d drank himself silly the previous night and this was all just a drunken dream. But Christopher was warm beneath him, and-

There it was. That look. The very one from the photographs. The instinct to grab his camera was so overwhelming, he actually had to grip the blankets on his bed to keep himself there. Christopher’s face grew more flushed the longer Conrad hesitated.

“Don’t hold out on me now, Conrad,” Christopher said, a bit hoarsely, and that was all it took. 

Conrad leaned down and kissed Christopher. He was met with unexpected enthusiasm, Christopher’s long arms hooking behind his neck to pull him closer. He let himself fall against Christopher so that their bodies were pressed against one another. Everything felt warm. His brain had given up thinking all together, and his heart was beating hard enough that he was surprised it hadn’t stopped.

This wasn’t a dream; It was so much better. 

Christopher’s mouth was quite demanding. He was, predictably, an excellent kisser. Was there anything he wasn’t good at? Rhetorically asking, of course. Conrad forgot to breathe more than once, and had to be reminded by a breathlessly chuckling Christopher whose fingers had begun undoing the top buttons of Conrad’s shirt. Conrad thought it rather hypocritical since Christopher sounded just as out of breath as he felt, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He returned the favor and unbuttoned Christopher’s collar, loosened his cravat and tossed the thing aside. Then his lips traveled down the length of Christopher’s neck, savoring the way Christopher shuddered against him. 

Conrad let out a yelp when Christopher abruptly flipped their position so that he was on top, gazing down at Conrad through hooded eyelids. His dark eyes had lit up with desire, and the way he looked, messy and needy, made Conrad want to whine. How could he be so impossibly attractive? What had Conrad ever done to deserve this? Did it even matter? He decided it didn’t, and reached up, grabbed Christopher by the lapels - oh, that did feel nice to do, after all - and brought their lips together again. Christopher made a contented noise in the back of his throat and kissed hungrily.

It was some time later when they finally broke apart, both panting, with jackets discarded on the cluttered floor and more shirt buttons undone. Christopher dropped his head to Conrad’s shoulder, and Conrad absentmindedly lifted a hand to run his fingers through the strands of Christopher’s hair that had come loose. He was so beautiful like this. Conrad felt blessed to see Christopher less than perfectly composed, as he so rarely lost his composure even in dire circumstances. 

Yet here he was, wrapped around Conrad almost possessively, face flushed, breathless, with swollen lips. It made Conrad want to kiss him all over again.

“How did you know?” Christopher asked quietly. 

“Huh?” Conrad said.

Christopher laughed, still particularly breathless, and raised his head. He was smiling now, so soft and fond that Conrad forgot to breathe again. “That I wanted to see you,” Christopher clarified. “I was sitting in a meeting, plotting to come here, when you summoned me. I couldn’t believe my luck.”

Conrad also laughed, a bit giddy now. “I only summoned you because I wanted to see you,” he said, playing with a lock of Christopher’s hair that had begun to curl. “I missed you. I missed you so much, it was affecting my quality of work.”

Christopher snorted. “Are you blaming me,” Christopher murmured, leaning in to press a tantalizing kiss to the sensitive skin of Conrad’s neck, “Conrad Tesdinic, for your failing work ethic?”

Conrad’s heart fluttered, and a tremor went through his body. Christopher had used his teeth. Conrad trembled and felt the sweet ache of the mark he left. Exhaling slowly, he sought out Christopher’s lips with his own. “Absolutely,” he said, and smiled when Christopher chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I missed you,” Conrad repeated. “I missed you. I missed you.” 

Christopher drank every repetition, kissing Conrad for each one. “You’ve made your point abundantly clear,” Christopher said. He rested his forehead against Conrad’s and closed his eyes. “I missed you, too.” After a pause, he added, “Perhaps more than I’d care to admit.”

“Were you going to sneak away?” Conrad asked, unable to stop himself from beaming. “The great Chrestomanci, slipping off to Series Seven without anybody knowing, just to see little old me?”

Christopher lifted his head and gave Conrad a look, brows knitted. “ _ Little old you _ ? My dear-” He frowned, seemed to rethink something, cleared his throat, and then continued, “-Conrad, I assure you that you are much more important than you make yourself out to be.”

Conrad was certain there were hearts in his eyes. “You mean I’m important to you?” 

Christopher’s frown deepened, and he said, unhesitatingly, “Need you even ask? Of course you are. I’m bloody in love with you.” Conrad’s smile vanished. Color flooded his cheeks and he stared at Christopher with round eyes. After a second, Christopher’s own eyes widened and he swore under his breath, then proceeded to bury his face in the crook of Conrad’s neck.

Conrad squirmed, trying and failing to get Christopher back up. “Y-you can’t just say something like that and then hide!” Conrad whined.

“Yes I can,” Christopher said, voice muffled. He let out a groan and became even more obstinate. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way! It was supposed to be perfect!”

Conrad found this completely endearing. Christopher Chant -  _ Chrestomanci _ \- throwing a small tantrum because his confession didn’t play out how he’d wanted. It was adorably childish, and Conrad couldn’t help laughing as he hugged Christopher against him. 

“How dare you laugh-” Christopher started.

But Conrad interrupted. “I love you.”

Christopher’s head shot up. He was blushing redder than Conrad had ever seen, and it really did take a great deal of effort not to reach for his camera again. He desperately wanted to capture this moment. “... You do?” Christopher asked.

Despite himself, Conrad laughed again. “Of course I do! Why else would I have kissed you-?” He was cut off with a grunt when Christopher abruptly caught his mouth again, kissing him with force. 

When Christopher next drew back, Conrad was rather dazed, and took a long moment to recover. Christopher seemed pleased with his work, and he tilted his head to nuzzle Conrad’s cheek. “I never imagined you’d feel the same,” he said in a quiet voice.

“ _ You _ never imagined?” Conrad blurted. He almost wanted to shake Christopher. “Have you seen yourself??”

Christopher lifted his head and pouted. “Am I to infer, Conrad, that you only like me for my dashing good looks?” Conrad rolled his eyes and lightly smacked Christopher on the head, dislodging more strands of hair. 

“Of course not, you prick,” Conrad said, and smiled wryly. “It’s just… Christopher, you’re  _ amazing _ . You’re brilliant, charismatic, not to mention funny, and you’ve always been so good at making me feel like I belong.” By now, Christopher was glowing, a stupid grin on his stupidly handsome face.

“Feel free to go on,” Christopher said, and Conrad had to resist the urge to hit him again.

“Be serious will you?” Conrad felt self conscious. His face was quite rosy. 

Christopher cringed and bit his lip. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

With a sigh, Conrad propped an elbow behind his head and fixed Christopher with a searching look. “I just meant…” He smiled and reached his other hand up to gently smooth back one of the curly locks hanging above Christopher’s forehead. “... That it was kind of silly, even for you, not to consider that I might have feelings for you. Who else could give me a reason to live after everything that happened to me?”

Christopher stared at him for a few seconds. Then he leaned in and kissed Conrad languidly, hands cupping his face. “God, you’re too good,” Christopher murmured, almost a moan of appreciation. Conrad’s face burned. “Did you know that, Conrad? You’re too bloody good.” He pressed more kisses to Conrad’s mouth, each more insistent than the last. Conrad gasped as he tried to keep up. “I was so bloody happy, those years when you were at the castle. I kept thinking after you left how empty it felt. I missed you every minute and every hour. Your quiet jokes, your attention to detail, your company in general. Your smile, in particular.” He kissed Conrad harder, and Conrad felt himself getting lightheaded. Then Christopher drew back and admired his handiwork. “You have no idea how many times I thought about kissing you when you smiled.”

Despite the fog of having been kissed senseless, Conrad couldn’t help snorting. “You think you’re the only one? That stupid smile of yours drove me up the wall. I can’t count the number of times I wanted to kiss it right off your stupid face.” And Christopher laughed and leaned in to kiss him all over again.

\--

Later that evening, Conrad had a thought. “Shouldn’t you go back soon?” he asked reluctantly. “I mean, I’m sure the others must be wondering where you went.”

“Oh, I daresay they’ll be fine,” Christopher waved a hand dismissively. “I have no doubt Millie already figured out where I am, and she has enough of a grasp on the situation to buy me some time at least.”

Conrad felt himself blush again, the color dusting his bare shoulders. Christopher dipped to kiss the flushed skin, and Conrad shuddered. “Millie knows?” he said uncertainly.

“Oh, yes,” Christopher chuckled wryly, “And she’s probably waiting most patiently to rub it in my face upon my unceremonious return.” That didn’t really surprise Conrad. Millie had always seemed like she knew more than she let on. Though, if she had known, he rather wished she would have stuck in a helping hand when they were younger. Though, admittedly it wasn’t her responsibility.

“Anyway,” Christopher said, and he carded fingers through Conrad’s hair, gazing affectionately at him. “I believe you told me you’re on vacation.” Conrad nodded, grinning. “Then perhaps I might be persuaded to join this vacation.”

As it turned out, Christopher didn’t need much persuading. 

Before Conrad committed to sleeping, he made plans for the following day. One, to clean the floor. And two, to take as many pictures of Christopher as he could physically manage. He haphazardly tacked on a third thing, which was _kiss Christopher a lot_.


End file.
